A Blessing In Disguise
by Katherine Elaine
Summary: High school AU. When Dean befriends the socially awkward angel, the last thing he expects is for Castiel to be at the centre of his every thought. M for smut in second chapter.


"You know, you shouldn't treat her like that."

Dean looks from the blonde cheerleader who's just left the classroom toward the desk on his left. There sits a boy in a tan-coloured blazer, white t-shirt and solid black jeans. His hair is dark, almost black, and his eyes glow a bright shade of blue.

"Yeah? And who died and made you king? I don't remember asking for your advice, Cupid," Dean retorts. "Hell, buddy, I don't even know your name."

"I know yours, Dean," the boy replies in a low voice, looking toward the blackboard at the front of the classroom.

The last of the students file in and take their seats, and their English teacher stands to begin the lesson. "How?" Dean asks in a loud whisper, eyes narrowed, expression caught between fear and confusion.

"Mister Winchester, class has begun," their teacher informs him. "And it's time for you to pay attention."

Dean smirks to himself, then directs his glance to his desk, then to Miss Potts in a matter of seconds. "Anything for you, sweetheart."

"That's quite enough," she replies nervously, her cheeks flushed with either rage or embarrassment, perhaps both. The class murmurs and chuckles for a quiet moment, but all settles down soon enough and the lesson starts. Dean's thoughts, though, are elsewhere. _How?_

* * *

The next morning, Dean glances to the stranger's open binder, where his name reads _Castiel_. "What kind of a name's that?" Dean asks, giving a slight upward nod in the direction of the page. "Castiel."

The blue-eyed boy's head snaps over to Dean. _How does he know?_ he begins to ask himself, but then follows Dean's gaze to the binder instead of to him. Talk about getting your hopes up.

"I'm not a stalker like some people," Dean tells him with his usual cocky grin. "Just tactful."

"Not tactful enough to keep that cheerleader around," Castiel responds immediately, without putting much thought into the comment. When Dean can't respond with something as equally or more witty, Castiel turns back to his notes with a small smile of his own forming.

* * *

It's like this every morning. They sit together and quiz each other without ever getting any real answers. It's only a short exchange, at most two lines each, but they both get some thrill out of seeing who gets the final punchline before the bell rings and class begins. First period is always English, then history, both together. After lunch, Dean has geography and a spare period, while Castiel has Religions and then math—not that Dean know Castiel's schedule, or that Castiel knows Dean's. So it's a bit of a shock to both of them when fourth period comes around and Dean is sitting at the back of the class next to Traci, a brunette that Castiel recalls being on the volleyball team this year. She's showing Dean a bruise from the previous evening's tournament when Castiel walks in. "Stalker," Dean mutters, reaching over to gently finger the wound.

"Sorry?" she asks loudly, frowning.

"Oh, not you, sexy. That kid." Dean gestured in Castiel's direction, and Castiel does his best to seem unnoticing, tearing his stare away from Dean's hand and turning on one heel to take his seat, facing away from Dean two rows ahead. "Tells me one day in class he knows my name, won't tell me how. Then zings me with some line about how I can't keep a girl."

"I doubt he's ever had one," Traci says in her best attempt to keep quiet. Castiel still overhears, though, and fidgets with his pens as he's setting up his workspace to ready himself for class.

"Even if he did, I don't think she'd stick around. Seriously, this kid's weird. He just… watches me."

_Dean has noticed? No, Castiel. You must learn subtlety. You must avoid situations—any situations—that could jeopardize you._ He hears both Dean and Traci chuckle, but tunes them out.

The teacher enters and the class goes silent as he begins to lace into their uninvited guest. "Dean Winchester, if I'm not mistaken? You aren't on the attendance list—"

"Just switched in today, sir. Actually, to get away from this guy up here." He points, and though Castiel can't see or hear or feel it, he knows Dean's pointed at him.

"Castiel is in this class, Dean."

The Winchester frowns and opens his mouth to protest, but shuts it reluctantly and stands to leave. Not, however, without wiggling his fingers at Traci, who returns the wave.

Castiel keeps his head down and says nothing the rest of the afternoon.

* * *

…Until he gets home, at least.

Castiel kneels in quiet prayer, his hands clasped together as he whispers words he imagines Dean laughing at and making disapproving marks about. Things like, "God's not real" and "you're wasting your time". But that's because Dean has never met Castiel's Father and, at the rate he's going, maybe never will.

"I understand, Father." He nods at last and stands with an unspoken promise. His Father sets him on the mission of watching over Dean Winchester with no interference. A difficult task, but not impossible.

He sits in the room that's been created for him, designated as his place of residence, on his bed and flops back, legs dangling over the edge, and wonders what Dean's doing right now, or rather _who_.

* * *

"Dean, come on. Maybe he's just socially awkward," Sam suggests. "I mean, it's not like he's really done anything harmful—"

"Yeah, aside from insulting my choice in girls," Dean snarls.

Sam rolls his eyes. "He didn't. He just said you have trouble keeping girls around."

"That's the same thing, Sam."

"He's the only friend you've got, Dean. At least try and socialize, if it's only for another week or so, 'til Dad gets back."

Dean only stares at his younger brother, who's always had it so easy with friendships and, silently, who he envies. "He's not my friend." He slams his homework shut and gets his jacket on.

"Where are you going?" Sam asks loudly, concern hinting in his voice.

"Out," Dean answers simply, shutting the motel room door tightly behind him.

* * *

Only when Dean's sure that Sam's gone to his friend's for the night does he pick up the phone and call Traci, who shows up not ten minutes later in the shortest skirt Dean's eyes have ever known and a top that he's pretty sure could be considered illegal in some countries. He pulls he through the door which is just barely closed when he pins her against it, fingertips finding the hems of the fabric without struggle and lifting the edged of her skirt, inching it up her thighs. Traci's legs quake slightly, excited by Dean's mere touch, until the phone rings.

Reluctantly, he pulls away to answer it, and it's Brittany, the blonde from a few nights ago. The one that Castiel had said he should treat better. She's upset, claims they 'had something special' and that she'd heard he was hanging out with the 'slutty brunette' and hadn't wanted to believe it 'til someone called her and told her they'd seen her on her way over. Traci leaves in a rage, uninformed that Dean had been seeing another girl in the first place.

Long after Dean's fallen asleep and Traci has left, Castiel stands across the street, watching the building, not sure why or what's keeping him there besides the Earth's gravitational pull toward the oldest Winchester son.

* * *

Dean skips his afternoon class the next day to avoid the sneers and glares and words that cut like daggers he's been seeing and hearing all day so far. He's making his way out of the building through the halls when the principal stops him.

He thinks he'll tolerate the lecture, pretend to go to class, and sneak out another way without her knowledge, but instead she starts into assigning him detention.

Like an angel on his shoulder, though, Castiel appears out of the corner of his eye. He hovers, both boys tuning out the principal as Castiel makes his way over. Out of nowhere, he apologizes.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Anderson. It's my fault he's not in class."

Dean turns his back to Mrs. Anderson and mouths to Castiel, _what are you doing?_

Castiel continues, ignoring Dean's reaction. "I asked him to meet me here because I am in Dean's debt, except that due to a careless mistake on my part, I left what I owed him at home. So really, our time has been wasted. We'll go back to class now, I promise."

The principal nods hesitantly, but sends them off after handing each a detention slip. As soon as they're out of her sight, Dean gives Castiel a rough pat on the back and slips through the back stairwell exit. It's not a 'thank you', but Castiel smiles.

It's not a friendship, but it's a start.

* * *

After school the following day, Castiel takes the seat next to Dean in the detention room and pulls out a notebook, scrawling out the letter of apology and explanation as is requested of both boys. Dean isn't even sure why he showed up at first until Castiel sits down. He finds comfort in the smaller boy's presence, finds calm in blue eyes. He starts to write his own apology letter, but flips the page and, on a new sheet that he tears out, he passes a note to Castiel.

It says _thank you_. Not much for a token of appreciation, but it's more than most people get, and they both know it. Castiel only smiles and, beneath Dean's writing, adds: You'd had a bad enough day already, I imagine. I didn't want to make it worse, considering your situation. He passes it back to Dean, who replies almost immediately, frowning at the page.

_Situation?_

_Dean, I know you and Sam don't exactly have a home. Your father is absent much of the time and it's causing unstable relationships in your life. You feel the need to grasp onto something, onto anyone who will get close. But Traci and Brittany aren't the people you should be hanging onto._

Dean considers for a moment that Castiel might actually be right and wonders, briefly, if it was Castiel that tipped Brittany off about Traci. He should feel angry, but he doesn't. He's cold as stone in his outside reactions, but inside, something blossoms, swells into this overwhelming feeling. He can't explain it, but from then on, he feels that way every time he steals a glance at Castiel. Like someone cares enough to be jealous and protective of him. Like his heart's about to burst. Like he's right where he belongs.

* * *

When Sam gets home from Harry's just before dinner time one night, he's surprised to see the blue-eyed boy in the blazer sitting at the table, two binders open on the surface while Dean rushes around the kitchen to put a quick meal together. "Sam, hey, this is—"

"Castiel." The undercover angel smiles at the younger boy, who smiles back nervously and moves to sit on the couch, turning on the TV.

Dean looks to Castiel and shrugs. "He's always quiet, I promise," he tells his friend, not sure why he feels the need to comfort him. But there goes the beating of his heart again when their eyes meet. Dean's in too deep. In a silent war with himself, he takes his anger out on his cooking which, in Castiel's words, turns out tasting heavenly. He grins proudly, and brings Sam a plate.

Sam watches as his big brother changes before his eyes; cooking, cleaning up, doing the dishes… doing his homework. Smirking, Sam decides to keep this Castiel around, as long as Dean is becoming a better person.

* * *

It's one day when they're in English together that Traci confronts Castiel before class starts. Calling him a creep for following her. Asking if he always gets off watching other people 'go at it'. The class starts to turn their heads, and Dean stands from his seat, looking down at her. "Back off," he warns. "If he was any harm, he would've done something by now."

Traci starts to protest, but is pulled out of the classroom by their teacher. It's Castiel's turn to thank Dean, and Dean revels in the gratitude; it's not often that he hears that. Even more than that, though, he lives in the sound of Castiel's voice.

* * *

It's in his dreams that night. Castiel's voice. Beckoning him, calling him. Reaching out to him, caressing him. It's the first night, but not the last, that Dean dreams of Castiel.

It happens again the next night. Dean dreams of library stacks, locked classrooms, and janitor's closets. Pushing a figure against the hard surfaces, his hands finding dark hair. Short, thin dark hair. It's Castiel's. The sound of it makes his chest tighten and he wakes, startled. _What the hell?_

In the morning, it's Saturday, and Dean picks up the phone before Sam wakes up and talks quietly. Not because he's afraid of waking Sam, but because he'd practically rip out his own vocal chords just to hear Castiel's voice on the other end.

They make plans; around eight tonight, Dean will go to his place. Regretfully, Dean hangs up and turns to find Sam sitting up in bed, eyes narrowed sleepily.

"Who was that?"

"Brittany," Dean lies.


End file.
